


Holiday Spirit

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Reaper (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1636496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by eris</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Miss Pamela

 

 

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Seattle's Department of Motor Vehicles was more or less deserted, but the Devil took a moment to breathe in the lingering aroma of impatience and smouldering resentment that clung to the walls like mildew. Ah, bureaucracy. Some of his best work. 

"Now, Sammy," he chided as he crossed the lobby, "is that a greeting appropriate for this glorious season of greed, gluttony, and potentially violent family reunions? Gladys!" he spread his arms. "Merry Christmas!"

Gladys levelled him an extremely dry look, and pushed her mat forward to Sam. "Place the vessel on the mat."

The Devil shook his head fondly, and clapped Sam on the back. "Just dropped by to congratulate you on a job well done. How's it going, champ?"

"How's it going," Sam repeated, incredulously. "Oh, I don't know, how's it going? It's Christmas Eve, I'm at the _DMV_ , and I'm sending a Mall Santa to Hell. In a _fruitcake_." He slammed the offending stale, off-colour cake onto the counter with a shudder.

"Come on, don't feel bad," the Devil grinned. "He was a terrible person! Mischief and mayhem and arson, grand theft sleigh, all the usual. Really hated those volunteer elves. People _died_. And at least nine deer!"

"Yeah, _I_ almost died, thank you, happy holidays."

"Anyway, don't worry. Real one's still out there, kiddo. Have you been good?" Satan wagged an eyebrow. "Are you on the nice list, or the naughty list?"

Sam looked as though he aspired to concentrate every ounce of hatred his fleshy little mortal body could muster into a single glare. It was cute. "Why is the DMV even _open_?"

The Devil smiled broadly. "The gates of Hell are always open for you, Sam. Hang on," and he rummaged in his pockets a moment, then offered Christmas crackers to each of them. Sam only looked mildly disgusted, Gladys mildly inanimate. Shrugging, he pulled his own with a pop and small shower of confetti, most of which ended up in Sam's hair.

"It's the jokes," Satan chuckled, unfolding a thin strip of paper left in the tube. "Love 'em. Listen: _What's small and anguished and writhes in the bowels of perdition for all eternity?_ "

Sam, already halfway to the exit by then, flipped a middle finger over his shoulder.

The Devil watched him leave, and shook his head, still chuckling. "Sweet kid," he confided to Gladys. "Shame about the soul."

 


End file.
